


Marker Smudges

by Midnigtartist



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex is a dork sometimes, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sexual Content, jefferson is pip's teacher, single dad/teacher au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9434471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnigtartist/pseuds/Midnigtartist
Summary: Alexander is not about to complain about hooking up with a guy too good looking for this seedy bar, he just wishes someone had told him this mystery man is his son's teacher.





	

**Author's Note:**

> IS IT TOO LATE TO POST JAMILTON WEEK STUFF????  
> Well too bad Imma do it anyway. Idea came for a promt I got on Tumblr!  
> This is unbetaed so please excuse the spelling and grammar mistakes!

Bars always wreek. The air is always pungent with the smell of something foul, like BO and burning hair, or cigarettes and misplaced aspirations. Thick with booze and its yeasty scent, and too much tacky perfume makes it almost too sickly sweet to breath. These are the types of the bars Hamilton frequents. Ones that play the same shitty pop songs on loop or boast three huge flatscreens that flash game scores Alexander could care less about. Quiet, unassuming and small. This bar is no different. 

The immigrant reaches over to cradle his rum and coke which is really more a glass of ice by now, careful not to drag his sleeve though the sticky residue left staining the poorly finished countertop, spilled drinks left behind by people more intoxicated than him. With his free hand he pushes back the hair falling into his eyes and sighs. The bar stools on either side of him are empty. It seems only he came here looking for some company tonight.

Disappointed, Hamilton pulls out his phone to check the time. It rounding one in the morning, late for a little pub like this, and he’s been sitting here far longer then he feels he should have been just to be ignored by every pretty person who passed him. He slides his phone back into his pocket, about ready to admit defeat and head home. Back to his tiny two bedroom home and his young son, surely his babysitter is anxious to go home as well.

“You know, drinking alone is one sign that you might be an alcoholic.” a deep, sing song  voice tells him.

Hamilton huffs, this was not the attention he was looking for this evening. He was hoping for someone a little less willful and a little more willing to show him a good time. It’s been too long, way to long, since the last time he’s gotten blown in a shitty bathroom stall. He turns,  ready to tell this asshole to fuck off, because really, who needs this kind of harassment at this hour. Certainly not him

He glances up and to his left. The previously unclaimed bar stool is suddenly occupied by a very tall, broad shouldered man. A very attractive, tall, broad shouldered man. With a strong jaw, lovely brown eyes, and cute little smirk painted over his full lips. His hair is wild, huge ebony curls that fan out around his face like a lion's mane, which seems to fit the almost predatory glint in his eyes. 

The hairs on the back of Alexander's neck relax, but a wave of goosebumps rise in their wake, leaving him with a flushed face and cold hands. He swallows down his venomous retort, instead easing one elbow onto the bar and flashing this gorgeous mystery man a smile he prays is somewhat seductive. Maybe tonight wasn’t a total bust after all.

Absentlymindedly he drums his fingers against the wood varnish, peering up at the other man though his lashes. “You a psychologist, then?” he asks coyly.

Amusement flickers like a lighter's flame in his eyes. “Not at all, I’m just well informed.”

Alexander raises his brows, a smile starting to fill up his face. The man is cute and quick witted, what a catch.

Mister perfectly white teeth extends a gentle hand to him “Tho-” he begins, but Hamilton cuts him off with  flurrying hand.

“I don’t wanna know your name.” he says plainly. “I don’t wanna know what you do, or where you’re from or any of that other fluff text. All I wanna know is if you’d be willing to get out of here, like soon, preferable with me.”

The man looks shocked for a moment, eyebrows in danger of breaching his hairline, then he chuckles, pretty lips splitting in a broad, toothy grin. With crinkles in the corners of his eyes, he rest his own arm on the bar, fingers dangerously close to brushing Alexander’s hand, and leans forward, filling the space between them. Hamilton can’t help but suck in a breath. The man smells like ink and fresh paper and french vanilla and it's a more intoxicating blend then the drink he just had. 

“Can I at least buy you a drink first?” the mystery man asks, the corner of his mouth curled up teasingly.

The little immigrant offer up a lopsided grin. “I mean, if you insist.”

Who’s he to deny a free drink? Booze isn't cheap and a writer doesn’t make that much on royalties alone. 

So he lets himself sag against the bar, resting his ankle on his other knee and stretching out in a way that makes his companion rake his gaze over him out of the corner of his eye as he flags down the bartender. One point Hamilton, he thinks smugly. Even in his mid thirties, he still has enough game to get himself laid. 

The other man orders for them both, an arrogant move that leaves a bit of a bitter taste in Hamilton’s mouth but does nothing to dissuade him from his corse. It’s not like he’s going to marry the guy, all he’s looking for is a quick fuck, so  why should he care if the man’s a bit of a prick?

He man pulls out a rough leather  wallet  from his back pocket a slips a card out from inside, slapping it down on the counter and sliding it over to the bartender. A thick, pretentious looking car with swooping lettering that says ‘platinum black’

Hamilton lets out a low, slow whistle, which prompts the other man to glance his way.

“It’s nice” he responds, once again pushing his hair back from his face. “You a lawyer or something?”

He looks like he could be lawyer. Dressed in a deep purple button up that probable cost more than Hamilton’s watch and black slacks way to nice for a place like this. Not to mention the cut of his beard looks professionally manicured, as opposed to Alexander’s hack job goatee. In any other scenario this walking marvel wouldn’t give him a passing glance, but for some reason he’s here, in this run down bar, all but undressing Hamilton with his eyes, and hell if he’ll be complaining about his turn of luck. 

He chuckles again, sweeping a curl somewhat nervously away from his face. “Yeah, or something.” he trails off. Then he snaps his eye back Alexander’s way, a brow cocked in question. “Though you didn’t want the long and winding back story.”

Hamilton shrugs. “Trust me, I don’t. I just wanted to see how close my guess was. You obviously have money, with that watch and those shoes. Lawyer was just the first thing that popped into my head.”

“I have family money” the man replys, just as the bartender sets their drinks down before them. “Old money. It’s allowed me to be a little more flexible with my career path and still live comfortably.” he then slides a drink over to Hamilton. It's small and fruity looking, bright green with cherries at the bottom.

The  burnette accepts it tentatively, tracing a finger across the rim before picking it up. “Comfortably and then some.” he remarks.

The other man huffs, preferring to sip his drink rather than justify the statement with a response, like his gratuitous wealth may be a sore subject to touch a upon. Hamilton drops it, instead bring his own glass to his lips. 

The drink smell strongly of vodka and assaults him with the almost overwhelming taste of limes, tart on his poor tongue. His expression twists unpleasantly, lips puckering around the tip of his tongue as it pokes out from between them. His companion laughs.  A warm, rich sound that bounces around Hamilton’s rib cage and steals a little of the air from his lungs and yet still seems to make his skin crawl unpleasantly. Breathless and annoyed, he sets his drink down and leans in close to the man, close enough to practically taste the strawberry from his violently pink drink. He drapes his arms around the other man’s shoulders and smiles wickedly to himself as he blinks, looking as though the gesture knocked him of kilter. 

“Listen, I was kind of expecting to be teased in other ways tonight, so either put up or shut up.” he mutters

Mystery man sweeps the tip of his tongue over his upper lip, lapping up the little bead of liquor caught in his stubble and Alexander is disappointed he didn't think to do it himself. A hot puff of air touches his cheeks as the man opens his mouth to respond. 

“Lead the way then.”

Hamilton practically beams, unwinding his arms from the stranger's shoulders so he can hop off his stool. The other man slides from his and suddenly Alexander feels quite small, what with the fact that the top of his head bearly brushes his compainion’s calvical. A rush of excitement chases away the feeling a moment later however,  instead making his body buzz hotly, wired with anticipation. He wrapping his fingers around the taller man’s wrist and proceeds to drag him along. Away from the counter and out of the bar, away from the smell of cheap beer and into the dull night. 

Bright lights from the heart of the city paint the sky in washed out shades of dirty blue and muddy lilac. It’s not like Nevis. The nights there were brilliant, inky black skies swimming with so many stars. He used to stand on the street corner when he was small and stare up at them. The void seemed infinite then, so dizzyingly deep he would sometimes fear he  could fall in, little hands grasping at the street signs to keep him grounded to the earth. The sky never looks like that in New York, but Alexander feels the same sort of tummy turning, world shifting dizzy as his companion presses him against the trunk of his car and captures his mouth in a hungry kiss. The man’s shirt front is a lot softer than the old rusted poles but he clings to it all the same, letting himself arch away from the handle digging into his back and stroke his tongue over the other man’s lips, hoping strawberry is better than that godforsaken lime. It’s still too sweet, too much, like a jolly rancher but he’ll take what he can get at this hour of the night. After a breathless moment they fall apart. 

Alexander scrambles to pull the keys from his pocket and unlock the doors. His car beeps once, locks swishing open and lights flashing across the dark blacktop. Hamilton parked strategically out of sight of the road when he got here so the plain brick side of the building will shelter them from scrutiny. 

He turns, hooks his fingers under the latch and pops the trunk.

“A mini van-” The taller man sets a hand gently on Hamilton’s hip. “Really?”

Alexander shrugs. “Got think praciatally. Plus-” he hosts the door over his head. “Lots of space for maneuverability.”

The hand on his hip squeezes, long fingers pressing hard against his skin. He shivers inadvertently.

He’s already pushed down the back rows of seats, leaving lots of room for him to hop back into the van and drag his companion along with him, so they’re both kneeling on the old blanket he spread back there before coming out. No nonsense tonight, it's been too damn long for him to be patient. All he wants are this guy’s hands on every inch of him. 

The other man reaches up to slam the trunk closed behind them. The force of it hitting the frame causes the whole car to shudder. Once they’re shut inside the tiny space Alexander wastes no time recapturing his lips, stretching up into the other man with arms on either side of his waist. He stumbles back a bit, nearly hits his head on the trunk door and Hamilton collapse on top of his warm, well built chest. His hands run along the fabric of his dress shirt, fingers deftly seeking out buttons as he clambered clumsily into his companion's lap, struggling to maintain the open mouthed kiss as he does

Hands clutched at his ass, drawing him closer still, deeper into the heat of the other man’s body and Alexander moans into his mouth. The man laps the sound greedly from his tongue. They clutch at each other, grinding and humming softy at the friction and yes, he thinks, the thought slowing emerging from the thickening depths of his mind, this is what he needed tonight. He manages to pop the top three buttons on the guy’s shirt, hands no longer cold from his glass left abandoned on the bar, and decided to trail his lips down his jaw. Because, this guy is a catch, better than he can usually gets when he goes out like this. Hamilton can feel the defintion of his abs as his talented hands roam lower, can feel the bulge pressing against his inner thigh and it makes his whine with anticipation and roll his hip down. So he’s going to savor this, take a little more time than he normally would with this endeavor, because why not. If this guy willing, breathing hotly in his ear as he sucks a harsh bruise just below his collar then mind as well.

The jerky movement of his hips elistiests a gasp of pleasure from the the stunning man beneath him. He drags Hamilton away from his lovely skin and kisses him once more. Then, with some awkward shuffling, he flips them over, hovering above Alexander as the little immigrant clutches as his open shirt front. He leans down, nipping gently at a spot of skin just behind Alexander’s ear that makes hims squirm, a breathy half moan falling from his lips. Hands fell across his chest, dipping under his t shirt to brush along his fluttering stomach. Hamilton archs back against the floor of the car.

“Pants off” he growls to the man. This wicked man with his long, unforgiving fingers.

The awful bastard chuckles softly. Lips brush the corner of his mouth briefly so Alexander turns his head to chase after them. It's not enough, but the annoyance he feels only lingers for a moment because there are hands against his crotch, pulling down his zipper and popping open the front of his worn jeans. There’s no need for verbal instruction at this point, it couldn't be clearer what the other man intends to do, rubbing two fingers teasingly against his straining erection, but Hamilton has been known to babble. 

“Harder” he whines, one hand clutching at this man’s back, the other flat against the door by his head. He pitches his hips upwards. “Can't you go faster, I’m practically dying. Please I need more please.”

Hands push his shirt up, pull his boxers down and Alexander pants in relief as kisses are laid across the peeks of his sharp hipbones, a nip to one that makes him mewl. Then his throbbing cock is being enveloped in the white hot heat of the other man’s mouth. Hamilton’s hands curl against the plastic of the truck door, nails scratching, digging, searching for a hold. His other hand he sets tentatively on the top of the man’s head. His companion hums in approval, which is good, because the sound is like a sucker punch to his gut and his fingers tighten around a clump of sprinny curls as he groans loudly. 

He opens his eyes to peer down at this gift of a man, with his skilled tongue that’s currently tracing senseless patters against the underside of his cock. Hamilton can’t suppress his groan at the sight. This man, with his plush lips spread around his blushing dick like they were always meant to be their, stretched wide and shining with spit. A flush is rising in his cheeks the longer he bends over Alexander like this, dark eyes bright and glossy like obsidian. Alexander saves the sight in the back of his mind fo later, for another night when he won’t be so lucky and throws his head back. He can hear the cars rushing past on the street over the soft wet sounds and weak whippers falling from his companions swollen lips, can hear the buzz of the street light only a few steps away from the van and can't help but be reminded of his youth once more.

When he was a bright eyed kid from the caribbean, trying to squeak his way through college on a scholarship, making friends best he could. He remembers how his hormone doused brain was left floundering when he stepped onto campus the first time, drowning in sea of pretty faces. Back then he and his roommate would sneak off in his rusted pickup truck, find a quiet little spot and unravel a blanket not unlike the one he’d brought along, and when he clutches the worried fabric in his fist he can’t help but feel young like that again. Back when he was invincible, infallible, untouchable. When his blood ran so hot though his veins he could have taken on the entire world, and he very nearly did. He certainly took on most of the student body, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken noses in his wake. He worked hard, loved passionately, fought everyday, and even still as he searches these fading memories, he can find nothing that compares to this man’s lips around him. The charge he feels, pulsing in his finger tips, sparks no embers from his past. This is new, a different kind of heat that he’s not yet experienced, and won’t be experiencing much longer if he keeps doing that with the flat of his tongue against his throbbing cockhead.

“Fuck- yes. There, yes- just like- fucking fu- yes like that.” he gasped out, tugging hard on the taller man’s hair. “Fuck yes please please please please.” a strangled groan escapes him as fingers trace across his balls. “Oh my god, yes, yesss, keep doing that, yes like-like that. Oh fuck, oh godi-fucking god.”

His thighs are quivering on either side of the man’s head, his spine curving up in anticipation.

But then, the utter asshole pulls away, leaving Alexander resting on the crest of a wave waiting to break against the shore line. Hamilton practically sobs at the deniel.

“You never shut up, do you.” the man teases breathlessly.

“No” Alexander grits out. “And it’s about to get a whole lot more unpleasant if you don’t get me off in the next ten seconds.”

The other man rolls his eyes at the threat, but his shiny lips are parted in an easy smile.

“So needy.”

The immigrant's vicious retort is lost to the moan that rips through him as the man dives back down, swallowing him to the root in one fluid motion. He comes with a shout, a throaty moan that devolved into incoherent babbling as he starts to ease off of his high. Eventually he goes boneless against the blanket, allowing the other man to stroke him gently on the way down. When the hand falls away, Alexander takes that as his cue to look up. The mystery man hovers somewhere by his knees, watching him with that same hungry glint in his eyes that sends a shiver racing up his back. Spit and come dribble from the corner of his mouth, staining his well keep beard with a perverse patch of glistening white.

“Oh fuck” Hamilton breath, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “fuck , give me one sec just- gotta catch my breath. Jesus, that was- shit.”

His companion huffs. “For a guy who couldn't ld be bothered to even learn my name, you fucking ramble.  Thought all you wanted to hear was a ‘yes sir, where to.’”

Hamilton shoots the guy a flippant glare, before sighing and climbing up into his lap “Guess I’m in love with the sound of my voice.” he starts to unfasten the other man’s pants

He hums gently, hands taking up gerous mounds of his ass. “Well then, that makes two of us.”

At his age, it's rare for Alexander to truly blush but the ease with which he says this makes heat rise in his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

“Sappy” he counters, trying to defuse the weird tension he now feels in the pit of his stomach. He tucks hair being his burning ears, then reaches down and pulls the man’s own heavy cock from his boxer briefs.

He groans and curses against Alexander’s shoulder as the little immigrant works his fist over his length, fingertips pressing into his skin like they mean to claim him. It's doesn’t take him long to find his own release. Hamilton lays sporadic kisses along the base of his neck as he spirts into his hand, and over his shirt front, before sagging against him. His heat and weight are somehow soothing so Alexander doesn’t protest. Instead he takes a moment just to be at ease, let his mind be blank for once and enjoy something, because lord knows this will never happen again.

But this position is to intimate for a stranger he just fucked in the back of his car in a seedy parking lot at one in the morning. He feels flushed once more, hot along his neck as he extracts himself from the other man’s hold. He looks almost sad to see him retreat. Hamilton refuses to comment on it. He shuffles to the truck door, unlatches it and pushes it up. He then hops down onto the cracked pavement, trying to right himself a bit so he looks less obviously fucked. The other man shimmies out after him as Alexander his doing up the button on his pants. 

“Hey”

Hamilton glaces up.

The mystery man is fiddling with the cap of a crayola marker, peering down at him with ernest. Hamilton would never have taken this man as anything less than a downright charmer but for a moment he looks almost unsure of himself, worry creasing his brow. Before he can respond, the other man pops off the marker cap and seizes Alexander’s wrist. He scrolls out something quickly, the felt tip cool on the skin of Hamilton’s inner forearm, before stepping back.

He flash Alexander another pretty grin. “In case you ever want that fluff text” he mutters, before ducking his head and shuffling away into the night, shirt poorly buttoned and hair a mess of crushed, deflated curls.

Hamilton smiles softly to himself as he watched the man go. He seems nice enough, a decent guys despite being a little cocky and a little self absorbed, but a great lay. Maybe he will have to give him a call sometime, maybe for something a little more substantial then rushed drinks and sloppy handjobs in the back of his mini van. He moves to push back his hair, but as he does his arm catches on the side of his face, smearing something cold and wet along his cheek. Alexander’s eyes go wide. Quickly he turns his forearm up so he can see the writing on his skin. A bright green blob is smeared across his forearm, only the faintest hint of numbers still remains, but nothing he can discern.

His stomach drops. “Motherfucker.”

 

When he gets home, Alexander scrubs off the ruined promise in the shower, but the memories of that night are harder to wash away. They haunt him for weeks after, filling his dreams with dark eyes and cunning smiles and plague his mornings with sweat wrinkled sheets tied up around his ankles. He still can’t say what it was about the other man that causes this teenage fantasy, and with no way to contact him again, he’s sure he’ll never know. But maybe the mystery is part of the novelty of his situation. Regardless, a month later and he still wakes up with sweat on his brow, fisting the comforter, chest heaving like he’s run a mile as he’s dropped into yet another day.

Hamilton lets a long breath pass between his flayed lips, the delicate skin chapped and raw from his teeth worrying them in his sleep, and eases from his white knuckled grip on a nearby pillow. Slowly his pushes himself into a sitting position, brushing the hair back from his face as he goes. Another dream that’s felt him feeling significantly cold when he woke, unheld in his empty bed. And as tempting as it would be to snuggle back down into his blankets, to pull them up around his ears and search out the last remaining pockets of heat, it's friday, and he has to get his son to school. So, regretfully, he throws back the blankets and slips out of his bed made for two with a growing feeling of loneliness festering somewhere between his ribs.

He’s been on his own for a while, but not because he’s been scare or unwilling to kindle a new romance. It’s just that, relationships take time, time that Alexander simply cannot bring himself to give. Not when he has books to write, and freelancing work that needs finishing, and his son. His sweet, beautiful, brilliant little boy. He’s curled up on the sofa when Hamilton staggers into the living room, six years old with a tablet balanced on his lap. When he hears his father, he peeks over the back of the couch, long, viously curly hair everywhere, like a copper halo around his round, freckled face. He’s the light of Alexander’s life, more important to him then anything. Which is why Alexander can’t justy dating. Sure, it be nice to have a partner again, someone to kiss in the shower and make breakfast barefoot in the kitchen with, hold hands. But people come and go and Phillip is still so young, Hamilton can’t find it in him to subject the boy to such uncertainty. Plus, people aren’t exactly lining up to date a freelance writer in his his late thirties with a small son. Maybe one day he’ll find someone again. A sweet widow or recently divorced PTL mom and they’ll get married and live a quiet, unassuming life on some nondescript street in the suburbs. The american dream certainly, but Alexander craves more than simply ‘enough’.  He pushes it all aside for now, because right now, his little boy is hungry.

Like most mornings, time flies by in a blur of pop tarts and shoes on the wrong feet and ‘i forgot my lunchbox’.. Eventually he’s able to get them out the door,  packing Phillip, his bookbag, and his project into the back of his mini van. The kindergarteners had to make these big posters of a hundred things and big it into class to show everyone. Phillip did a hundred marbles. Sticking them to the poster board had been hell, Alexander almost hot glued his finger to the paper. 

“Can you help me carry my poster in daddy?” Pip asks, swing his legs wildly against his booster seat. Much like his father, he seems unable to sit still. “It’s heavy and I don’t want to lose any of my marbles because then I wouldn’t have a hundred marbles and my teacher might get mad at me.”

Alexander spares his son a glance in the rearview mirror. “Does your teacher get mad at you a lot?”

Philip shakes his head. “No, he’s really nice and fun. But the  other day Georges got in trouble for kicking a ball over one of the fences so that he wouldn’t have to share it but then, Mr. Jefferson was mad and took away one of his stars for that day so he couldn’t get a prize this week.”

“He can’t get a prize this week?” Hamilton corrects, carefully pulling the car into the school parking lot. 

Pip nods his vigorously, eyes wide and serious, like not getting a cheap plastic toy from the toy box was the end of the world, but, for a six year old, it mind as well be. 

Hamilton shrugs. “Well, don't kick any balls over the fence then.”

He stops the car in a spot close to the door and unclips his buckle. Siding out, he rounds the back of the van and pulls opens Pip’s door. The little grade schooler already has his seat belt off, he comes bounding out the door with his bright green backpack slung over his shoulders. 

“I won’t dad, I’m a good kid and I get all my stars for being helpful.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Alexander pulls out the poster before shutting and locking the car behind them. “Why don’t you lead us to your class.”

With a happy little cheer, Phillip races ahead, making the immigrant jog to keep up. 

He’s only ever walked Phillip into his class one time in this short school year, at this age it's usually perfed that the kids walk in on their own, to help them build some independence on a small scale. The one time he did walk him in, there’d been a sub that day, and as such, Hamilton has yet to really met his son’s teacher. All he knows from Phillip’s stories is that his name is ‘Mr. Jefferson’ and he’s ‘really really nice’ but surprisingly unmarried. Alexander has been subtly anticipating the first parent teacher conference so that he can get to know him a little better. He is that man that watched his child for a good portion of the day, after all. 

The brightly lit, dazzlingly colorful hallway to the kindergarten room a covered with projects and drawings from the children. Alexander smiles softly when he spots a few of Pip’s, it warms his heart to see the little scene of two of them draw as stick figures. The actually kindergarten classroom is even more colorful and distracting then the hall. Posters cover every available inch of the white cinder block walls. A weather chart, a number line, posters about reading. The alphabet hangs over the front board. As soon a Philip hangs up his bang and coat on the little hook mark with his name, the little boy dashes off, weaving his way through the rows of toys, leaving Alexander to hover awkwardly in the doorway with the poster still clutched in his arms..

“Mr. Jefferson! I’m here and I bought my dad with!” He chatters happily as he rushes up to a man tying the shoelaces of a little girl.

Wild, dark curls cover his face, reminding Hamilton of the mystery man from the bar. His hair had kind of looked like that, maybe a little wilder but-

He shuffles his weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, uhh, where did you want this?” for emphasis he shakes the poster a bit. 

Phillip’s  teacher finishes the bow on the young girl's sneakers. “There you go Thea.” he says gentle in a voice that’s almost familiar, but Alexander can’t quite put his finger on why. At least, not until he glances up a moment later and Hamilton finds himself staring at those eyes he’s been dreaming about for a month. His stomach backflips right back out the door.

“Sorry, about that” he stands, brushing some hair back from his face. “How can I help yo- oh.”

It’s him, it has to be the guy from the bar. It looks like him. The wild curls, those deep brown eyes, wide with shock at the moment but certain still his, sloping jaw with that perfectly kept facial hair. Hamilton’s mind stumbles over itself in an attempt to keep up with his rambling mouth.

“Hey” he breaths

The man sort of blinks at him, like he’s dazed. “Hi”

It's awkward, it's so uncomfortable awkward, hovering in room full of kindergartners while his one night stand gawks at him. Alexander tries his best to push through it. Again, he shifts the poster in his arms. 

“So where did you-”

The other man blinks again, Hamilton watches the line his his face ease back into something akin to recognition, rather than blatant disbelief.    
“Oh right, here” he rushes forward and grabs the poster from Hamilton’s hands, setting it on a nearby table instead. Then he turns back to him features arranger into something resembling a pleasant, unstrained smile. “You must be Phillip’s dad.”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Alexander blurts, jutting out a stiff hand in greeting. “Hamilton, I mean- you already knew that. I’m Alexander- Hamilton. Alexander Hamilton.” the word vomit only cease when the other man wraps a warm hand around his own.

His grin seems a little softer. “Thomas Jefferson,” he says gently, giving Hamilton’s hand a firm shake that nearly rips his arm from his socket. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Hamilton.”

‘Tho-’ Thomas.  It's a nice name.

Hamilton bites down on his tongue to refrain from saying that out loud, which is proving difficult with the Jefferson's warm hand slotted against his own. Instead, he mumbles out a quick. “It’s nice to finally meet you too.”

Of all the people, in all of the god blessed city of New York. of every person he could have picked up at some sad little bar, it had to be his son’s hot teacher. When Hamilton gets back to his car he’s going to scream.

  
  
  


The accusing numbers on his radio clock keep reminding him that it’s 5:24, even as he skids into the school parking lot later that day. They shame him silently as he pulls into the first spot he can find, cursing under his breath as he whips of his seat belt and jumps from the van. He was dumb, and forgetful, he wasn’t paying attention to the time and now h’s late. Ridiculously and inexcusably late to pick up Pip from school and it make his spit taste bitter on the back of his tongue. Hamilton doesn’t even bother to lock the car as he races towards the school front to find his son. 

He finds him, sitting on the steps, one sock bunched up around his ankle, little backpack strapped to his back, looking sullen. Mr Jefferson sits beside him. His mouth moves as if he’s muttering reassurance to the boy and it utterly breaks Alexander’s hear to see his child look so lost. He dashes towards the pair of them.

“Phillip!”

The little boy glanced up at the sound of his voice, then his big eyes go all wide.

“Dad!” he pops up from the stone steps, stumbling over his sneakers in his rush to get to his father.

Alexander crouches to envelop the boy in his arms, kissing the top of his curls and holding him close. “I’m sorry Pip, sorry it took so long to get here.”

Pip grips onto the back of his dress shirt tighter. “I thought you forget about me. George said you forgot me.”

The way his little voice trembles makes Hamilton’s knees weak. He’s such an awful father. He presses another swift kiss to the boy’s forehead. “I'm so sorry buddy, I should have called, I’m sorry.” he moves to hold his son at length. “Can you forgive me?”

The little kindergartener nods slowly, one hand clutching at the strap of his backpack. “Can we go home now? The outside of the school is boring.”

“Of course sport, come on” Carefully he gathers his son up into his arms and staggers to his feet.

When he glances over, he finds Jefferson still wavering at the top of the steps, he’s got Phillip’s lunch box hanging from one limp hand. 

“Thank you for waiting with him.” Hamilton says breathlessly.

Jefferson nods once, making his way down the steps towards them. “I don’t mind, he is my student after all, I wanted to make sure he was alright.”

“Right...” Hamilton trails off. 

Jefferson follows after them to the car without prompting, for which Alexander is thankful for. For some reason, the man leaves him tongue tied now. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that he blew him in the back of his car, this car that he’s unlocking and setting Pip inside, and Alexander never called him back. That might serve to make things sincerely awkward. Alexander quickly buckles Phillip into his booster seat. 

“There you go bud, now thank Mr. Jefferson for staying with you while you waited to for me.”

Pip waves sheepishly at the taller man. “Thank you Mr. Jefferson.”

Jefferson smiles warmly at the boy. “I’ll see you monday Phillip.” 

With that, Alexander snags Phillip’s book back from the car floor, shuts the door, then shuffles around to the back of the car. Jefferson follows, hovering closer to him as he pops the latch then Alexander thinks he has any right to, close like he was that other night. He swallows, flinging Pip’s bag into the trunk, before snatching the lunchbox from his companion's hand.

“Really, thank you again for sitting with him, you didn’t have to do that.” he mumbles, flinging in the lunchbox as well before slamming the door shut.

“I don’t mind, really, Phillip’s a smart boy.” Jefferson folds his arms over his front. “And I know as a teacher I’m not supposed to play favorites but- I certainly enjoy having him in class.”

Hamilton can’t help the swell of pride he feels rising in his chest. He leans back against the trunk door. “Thanks, I know he really enjoys you too.”

You’re different around him.” Jefferson adds.

Confused, Alexander inclines his head in question. “How do you mean?”

The easy smile the taller man had adopted when he was talking about Pip starts to slip from his lovely lips. His arms fall limply to his sides, gaze searching the pavement. Again, Alexander would have never consider Jefferson a nervous man, but he fidgets, twisting the sleeve of his cardigan between long fingers. 

“You were incredibly callous at the bar, so I just assumed that you were just one of those people, and I tried not to take anything to personally. But with him you’re so gentle, and caring. And when you didn’t call or text me I just assumed, well, I knew you weren’t interested in me, so I tried forget about it, and it was working pretty well. Then you show up today and it just- it got me thinking again about that night and, I get that you’re not interested but-”

At this point Alexander reaches up and tangles his fingers in Thomas shirt front. Desperate to save him from anymore babbling, he heaves the taller man flush against him, and swallows down his rambling tangent. Somehow, he taste sweeter when the offensive taste of artificial strawberry doesn’t fill his mouth. Thomas taste like, stale coffee and peanut butter but Alexander doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind that he smells like finger paint and elmers glue, or that he’s got at least a foot on him, so he as to crane his neck up uncomfortably in order to smash their mouths to together like this. Thomas picks up quick, stops stumbling over his train of thought and instead slowly falls into pace with Hamilton. Hands come to rest on the immigrant's hips as he and Jefferson melt into one another. The feeling is new, new like it was behind the bar, under the cover of night, like adding gun powered to a low burning fire, Alexander feels like he might burst into a shower of sparks. After a surprisingly short, surprisingly tender moment, Hamilton pulls back, resting his head against the car door Jefferson has pinned him to.

“You dork.” he breaths, promoting Jefferson to peel open his eyes so he can see him. “Do you really think I wasn’t interested?I wanted to call, but I smeared the maker all over my face like an idiot and I couldn’t read the fucking numbers.”

“You- did what?” he responds, slack jawed with disbelief.

Hamilton’s shoulders start to shake with silent laughter. “Yeah, god I’m an idiot.”

Thomas laughs too, it's an almost squeaky sort of laugh and, okay, maybe it’s a little adorable, but he’s not going to say that out loud. 

Hamilton moves to wrap his arms around the taller man’s shoulders, forcing him to bend a little with hands on the back of his neck. “You know, I think that little rant was the most words I’ve ever heard you say.”

Thomas rolls his eyes at this “Shut up, dumbass.”

“I’d like to see you make that happen.” he taunts. 

Jefferson molds his mouth to Alexander’s once more, effectively shutting him up. Alexander can’t say that he’s particularly upset by it, not when his lips are every bit as warm and wonderfully soft as he remembers them. He sighs , slumping back against the truck and let's Thomas’ pleasant heat roll over him. When they part, he brings a hand up to sweep some hair behind Alexander ear

“Get drink with me” Thomas squeezes his hip. “A proper drink, dinner to. I want to know more about you.”

It’s silly, almost juvial, like their teenages make out under the bleachers or someother horrible high school cliché, but maybe that’s why the offer is so enticing. Hamilton risks a glance back at his son though the car window. He absorbed with this tablet, and Alexander smiles. His beautiful son, he deserves someone substantial in his life, if not Thomas then someone else. But Thomas is here now, willing and maybe kinder than he had originally thought. What wrong is there in trying again? So he turns back to the taller man and grins.

“I think I could get a babysitter for tomorow night.” hre mutters coyly, streching up towards him.

“It’s a date then.”

  
  


The arms around his middle almost startled him, but then Alexander remembers who they belong to. 

Last night went well.

On his side in his bed, Hamilton somehow hadn’t been able to find his way under the sheets. Or maybe it's that Jefferson is a massive blanket hog because when Alexander careful shifts in his arms to face the taller man, he finds him buried under them with the comforter pulled up high around his ears. Only his one arm, draped loosely around Alexander’s waist peeks out from under the sheets.

Prick, he thinks with a  huff, before peeling back the blankets a snuggling up inside Thomas’ little cocoon of warmth. He wraps arms around the other man’s broad chest, presses his face into the crook of his neck, where the skin is adorned with little purple marks, and, for good measure, Alexander shoves his icy toes against the back of his legs.

Jefferson flinches away from the feel of them, mumbling curses into the pillow and Hamilton can’t help but laugh. Yes, he definitely likes waking up with Thomas in his bed, rather then  fucking quick in the back of his car, despite the blatant blanket hogging, this is far more enjoyable. He decided to nuzzle into to hickeys he’d left behind the night before while he waits for his companion to become coherent. 

Jefferson squirms under his hold “Fuckin christ Alexander, get off of me.” he grumbles, rolling onto his back in order to escape. But Hamilton is having none of that.

“My bed, my rules, asshole.” he spits, tucking himself into the other man’s side, then he takes hold of his arm and draws ita round his slimmer shoulders. “I wanna cuddle so you’re gonna have to deal with it.”

Another non committal noise leaves Thomas on breath, Hamilton ignores it in favor of laying more kisses over his shoulder. Contrary to popular belief Alexander is not big on the lovey dovey, hang all over each other coupley crap that he sees on every street corner. He doesn’t need the constant physical reminder of someone's presence. He never really had it growing up and he certainly doesn’t need it now. But over the years he’s made friends with some rather affection people, so he supposes they sort of beat it into him. Plus, mornings after always have a tendency to make him a little more sentimental. 

Even though he complains, Hamilton can feel Jefferson relax under him, so he clings just  a bit tighter, just this once though. Finger tangle into his hair and after a long stretch of peaceful silence, the taller man glances over at him.

“Why are you so cold?” he asked, rolling over so that he can fold Alexander more effectively to his chest. 

“Oh you know,” Alexander starts. ‘Some asshole came in here last night, stole all my blankets, guess it’s my fault for opening the door.”

Jefferson scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Hey, I’m tiny if you haven’t noticed, you fucking giant, I don’t produce a lot of body heat on my own!”

Thomas rolls his eyes, then leans down to capture Alexander in a kiss, bringing a hand up to cup his face. It’s a just a few degrees above chaste as when they part Jefferson presses their foreheads together, dark eyes practically swimming with all the stars over Nevis. Alexander feels the pull of them, like gravity is shifting, pulling him into those swirling, sparkling depth in head first tumble. He grabs Thomas’ shoulders tighter to keep from falling.

“If i make you breakfast, will you stop complaining?” Jefferson offers

Hamilton eyebrows creep upwards. “You cook?”

He offered Alexander a sly smile in return. “There’s lot of things you don’t know about me, Mr. Hamilton.”

Alexander shuffles closes, draws his arms tighter around Thomas’ middle and knots up their legs so he can’t get away. “I want to learn them.” he insisted, peering up at Jefferson through his lashes. “I want to know your favorite movie, and the places you like to eat, why you became a teacher. I want all that bullshit fluff text.”

Jefferson stares at him.

“Sorry....” Alexander mumbled, letting his head drop to Thomas’ chest. “Sorry. Sometimes I just- word vomit all over the place, just say the first thing that comes to my head without thinking. I have zero flitter, sor-”

“I would like that.”

“What?” Hamilton’s gaze darts back up, seeking out the other man’s eyes. 

Jefferson is almost- smiling down at him, lips quirked up ever so slightly in the corners of his mouth. “I said, I’d like that, getting to know each other, filling in the holes. I wouldn’t mind.”

Hamilton is far too old to get that twisty, fluttery feeling in his stomach. He’s quite sure all the butterflies dead long ago, but, maybe there’s a stray month or two in his chest. 

“Awsome” he says lamely. 

The corners of Jefferson’s eyes crinkle up as he his face splits in a stunning smile. Before he can gather the breath to taunt Alexander for his eloquence, the door to bedroom bursts open.

“Dad, you’re home!” Pip cheers

Hamilton flails like a fish, arms and legs kicking out in every direction, kicking Jefferson off of him. He nearly tumbles off the mattress but Alexander still has enough sense to grab his arm to keep his ass off the floor and under the covers. The last thing he needs is for Phillip to have live with the trauma of seeing his recently fucked teacher’s bare ass. So everybody's just gonna stay right where they are, thank you very much.

The bed dips, Pip’s little hands and feet scramble for purchase on the bedsheets as he heaves himself onto the mattress. He then crawls into Alexander’s waiting lap and throws his arms around his father’s neck.

“Good morning!”

Hamilton chuckles, patting the top of his sweet son’s head. “Morning kid. What are you doing in here?”

The boy shrugs. “I missed you when you went out last night” Then he notices the other finger in the bed. Jefferson perched right on the edge, blinking owlishly at the boy. Phillip raises a hand and waves awkwardly to him. “Hi Mr. Jefferson.”

“Hey Phillip.” Thomas replies gently. He sounds frazzled, so Alexander, without really thinking it through, reaches across the bed and twines their fingers together.

Phillip doesn’t notice to movement, or if he does, then he just doesn’t care. Instead he asks. “I thought you said, see you monday, and today is sunday.” pauses, glancing over at Alexander with round concerned eyes. “Am I in trouble?”

Alexander and Jefferson exchange a look, and immediately both break out in stupid grins. Pip is still so young and innocent, bless his heart.

Jefferson shuffles closer to him on the bed, unitl their kneens bumb under the covers. “No Phillip, it’s nothing like that.”

“Yeah.” Alexander reassures, giving his son’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.”

Beside him, Thomas hums, leaning down to press a soft, innocent kiss to the side of Hamilton neck, like the closeness of their proximity compelled him to do it without thought.  _ ‘I might be thought, oh fuck’  _

The pathetic little moths flap their feeble wings against his heart once more, making him blush. 

It’s been too long since he’s felt so giddy to just have someone near. In a night and a half, Jefferson has wrapped him around his finger with such ease, but Hamilton can't bring himself to really mind.

Phillip glances between the two of them once more, before his eyes fall on their hands, intertwined on the bed sheets. “Are you guys boyfriend and boyfriend now?”

Alexander shrugs, tempted to lean back against Thomas’ warm frame. “Yeah, I guess we sort of are.”

Pip nods slowly. “Do I still have to call you Mr. Jefferson?” he direct his question to Thomas

“You should probably still call me that at school,” Jefferson starts. “But when I’m here, I suppose you can just call me ‘Thomas’, if that’s okay with you” Jefferson gives his hand a squeeze and Hamilton rolls his eyes.

“Of course you can hang out here, we are ‘boyfriend and boyfriend’” He teases.

Phillips little brows are drawn tightly together in concentration. “This is confusing....” he mutters

Alexander laughs, drawing his son in for a hug with an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it too much, sport. You’re just going to be seeing more of Thomas around the house okay?”

“Do you really like, Mr. Thomas?” the boy asks shyly.

His stomach sort of flips at the question.  Alexander glances at Thomas over his shoulder, only to find that he’s already staring at him, watching him with faint, heart warming smile on his lips. Hamilton squeezes his hand tight before answering.

“Yeah, I think I really do.”

Jefferson looks like he might kiss him as his face splits into a huge grin, like day breaking over the horizon, it sets his whole face a light. The pad of his thumb brush against the back of Hamilton’s hand.

“Why don’t we all go get dressed, then I’ll makes some pancakes.” he offers. “How does that sound Phillip?”

Phillip positively beams at the suggestion. “Can you make them with chocolate chips?” he asked, practically bouncing in Alexander’s lap.

“I don’t see why not.”

The little boy cheers, rolling off of the bed and stumbling out the door to go get dress. Finally Hamilton allows himself to relax, leaning back against his bedmate warm chest. He’s not sure what year will look like, if he’ll wake up like this again, with his son’s excited face and Thomas’ soft kiss the first thing to greet him when he opens his eye. Hell, he’s not sure what the next couple weeks may hold, but for right now he has the promise of fresh pancakes on the way, and that’s enough to get him out of bed. It’s enough, and though ‘enough’ has never really been able to satisfy him, he’s never found himself able to simply ‘settle’, he’d be willing to try this time. Thomas is different, somehow he can tell and maybe, just maybe, he’ll be Alexander ‘more than enough’

  
  
  



End file.
